


(not anyone) you're the one

by panicparade



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Banter, Boys In Love, Break Up, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Coming of Age, Ex-Auror Harry Potter, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Getting Back Together, H/D Erised 2020, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Harry Potter Raises Teddy Lupin, Herbology, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Kid Fic, M/M, Mistletoe, POV Draco Malfoy, Post-Hogwarts, Secret Relationship, Soft Draco Malfoy, Unusual Career
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-11
Updated: 2020-12-11
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:49:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27579394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/panicparade/pseuds/panicparade
Summary: “Bit early for some exercise, Potter.”The other blinked, posture rigid before he all but deflated, wand arm falling limp to the side as he wiped a hand across his forehead. Despite the relaxed stance, Draco didn’t miss how Potter kept a tight hold on his wand.“Malfoy,” Potter gasped, struggling to catch his breath, blinking rapidly as the wind picked up speed. “What are you doing here?”orThe one where Draco and Harry get together, fall apart, grow up and then find their way back to each other.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 57
Kudos: 311
Collections: H/D Erised 2020





	1. when night falls, i am your escape

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AhaMarimbas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AhaMarimbas/gifts).



> Dear AhaMarimbas, your prompts and likes were so inspiring! As a result, I ended up creating something four times longer than the word count I was aiming for. I hope you enjoy this little fic and these boys I feel so very soft for! ♥
> 
> S, thank you for all your help brainstorming and getting the original plot into place. C, thank you for being so very awesome and giving such comprehensive feedback on such short notice! TLW, thank you for jumping in so late into the process and helping me whip this thing into shape! Your insightful and thorough suggestions and edits helped turn a very rough draft into something readable. ♥ Finally, all the hugs and thanks to the wonderful mods for being so patient and understanding! ♥
> 
> Work and chapter titles are all borrowed from the song [Sanctuary by Joji](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YWN81V7ojOE). Thank you for reading! Wishing for a safe and happy 2021 for everyone, wherever in the world you are! ♥

Draco had found the classroom on accident during one of his nightly walks around the castle, sleep evading him so regularly he’d all but given up on the facade of getting ready for bed. 

The sixth floor was still unused, the reduced student count allowing for sections of the castle to be sealed off in anticipation of repairs. As part of the eighth-year team working closely on the restoration of the most damaged parts of Hogwarts, Draco was closely aware of which sections were abandoned.

The classroom was almost barren, save for a few broken desks that he’d spent the first night piling into the corner. He hadn’t planned on coming back, satisfied that he’d somewhat attempted to clear things out before moving on to his nightly excursions around the castle. The next night, however, he found himself once again carefully climbing across the rubble strewn along the corridor to enter the classroom. 

Knowing there wasn’t much else he could attempt in terms of repair, Draco had found himself creating some semblance of a room within those damaged walls. While the side facing the corridor was still intact, the outer wall had been clearly hit by some sort of spell, a large chunk of it missing, creating a pseudo window of sorts between the two existing arched windows. A standard Shield Charm and enforced heating spells were enough to give the room some semblance of warmth. The extra cushions and spare blanket he smuggled from the Slytherin common room added to the strangely comforting atmosphere of the room. 

Before he knew it the room became a secondary dorm room of sorts. He was finding himself spending more time here, getting comfortable on the window ledge, than in the actual room assigned to him. The only eighth-year Slytherin to come back, he had all the space to himself but being alone amongst the empty beds was slightly disconcerting. It was also the reason why he could never get comfortable enough to fall asleep.

Another reason why he kept coming back to the classroom, despite his attempts to find a better, warmer pit stop during his nightly walks, was the view from the windows. It was directly facing the lake, the moon reflecting off the surface casting a soft shimmer across the water, enough to make Draco pause and stare. He had spent hours curled up next to the windows, lukewarm cup of tea in hand as he gazed across the forest, thoughts calming enough to let him _almost_ doze off. He was so used to the sight at this point—the towering trees, the still water of the lake and the slowly drifting fog moving towards the castle—that the slight movement was enough to catch his eye. 

With his brow furrowed he watched on as a figure cut a path through the fog, running around the lake with a steady pace. 

Despite his mounting curiosity, Draco made himself look away. He had an assignment to finish. If he was fast enough he could make it to the kitchens before breakfast and grab himself a snack without having to visit the Great Hall. 

Even as he read up on the properties of the Invisibility Potion he found his mind drifting to the lone figure running around the lake, the fog following in his path.

~*~

It took only three mornings for Draco’s curiosity to win. He’d been following the figure as it ran, sometimes slowing down into a jog before sprinting around the perimeter of the lake and back.

The fourth morning was the coldest, and for some reason Draco found himself more restless than before. He’d tried all of his usual tricks to calm down, even attempting some of the meditation tricks as he’d been advised by the Ministry-appointed Healer he was required to communicate with as part of his sentence, but nothing was helping. Frustrated and a little exhausted, he found himself heading towards the lake before he could make up his mind. By the time he was halfway there, he figured he might as well go all the way—the worst case scenario was that it could be someone from his year and he’d be forced to attempt some form of interaction. Not that most people responded to his attempts, but Draco didn’t want to give anyone a chance to say he wasn’t doing his bit to integrate himself with those at Hogwarts. 

Besides, he _really_ did need to know. Who in their right mind would go for a run, on a cold October morning, around the lake of all places? 

In hindsight, he should have known. There was only one person at Hogwarts who was always surprising him. Yet he couldn’t help but be startled when he finally made it close enough to see who was braving the chilly morning air to get in some exercise. 

_Of course._ It was Potter. Though the other was quite bundled up against the cold—a thick scarf wrapped around his neck covered most of his face—the glasses and messy, windswept hair were dead giveaways. Despite the chill in the air, Draco could see he was sweating, his breathing laboured and loud in the otherwise silent morning. 

Curiosity sated, Draco was about to make a hasty and quiet retreat when he managed to accidentally kick a stray pebble. The sound was enough to jerk Potter out of whatever frame of mind he was in, the boy spinning on his heel, his wand out before Draco could quirk an eyebrow in surprise. 

Despite the shiver wracking his frame—less from the cold and more from the wand aimed directly at him, he suspected— Draco stood tall. 

“Bit early for some exercise, Potter.” 

The other blinked, posture rigid before he all but deflated, wand arm falling limp to the side as he wiped a hand across his forehead. Despite the relaxed stance, Draco didn’t miss how Potter kept a tight hold on his wand. 

“Malfoy,” Potter gasped, struggling to catch his breath, blinking rapidly as the wind picked up speed. “What are you doing here?”

Draco had absolutely no intention of mentioning his room or the fact that he had been unintentionally spying on Potter. He opted for the safer, “I was out for a walk.” 

Potter frowned. “At this time?” 

Draco barely managed to restrain what would have been a very undignified snort but thankfully Potter seemed to have caught the hint. Draco looked on in amusement as the boy in front of him blushed, one hand fiddling with the ruffled ends of the garishly yellow scarf. 

“Well,” Draco started, clearing his throat nervously. “This was fun. Carry on.” 

Without waiting for a reply he turned on his heel and marched back to the castle, back straight and head held high. He could feel Potter’s gaze on him even as he climbed the stairs to the Entrance Hall.

~*~

Before he noticed, it became a routine of sorts. It only took a few weeks for Draco to all but move into the room, choosing to spend his time there whenever he was free from his other duties.

Occasionally he would find himself wandering down to the Lake in the early morning, the sight of Potter exercising in the frigid air invoking an odd sense of sympathy in Draco. He was there every morning, wrapped up in layers and running, no matter how low the temperatures dropped, and that made Draco want to do _something._

So he started visiting him, often doing nothing more than strolling along the shoreline, shivering as the cooler air from over the water blew over. Most days, Potter ignored him, getting there long before Draco did and continuing to jog long after Draco left. Some days he felt like he should speak up, say something to get Potter to stop for a bit, catch his breath maybe. But every time he tried the words would get lost under years of _angerregretapologies_ so he’d bite his words and keep walking. 

He spent the night dozing in his abandoned classroom, now slightly more comfortable due to the sudden appearance of more blankets and a tattered old sofa. He was not sure where they came from or who dropped them off, but he felt like he’d seen _that_ very sofa in one of the older staff rooms. 

He couldn’t pinpoint when or how, but the early mornings became his favourite part of the day. He couldn't remember the last time he found comfort in any time of day other than the deepest part of the night. Yet, without fail, he looked forward to dawn when he could start making his way down the stairs. 

He was content with life continuing this way, a new normal where he was left alone and could make sure he followed everything mandated in his sentence while spending the morning in peaceful silence with Potter. 

As they inched closer to November, Draco found himself sneakily applying Warming Charms along the path Potter usually ran. He was sure Potter was more than capable of doing such basic wandwork, but reminding him would involve talking to him, and Draco was trying to avoid that as much as possible. 

As he stepped onto the grounds at the cheery hour of six am, the frost _crunching_ under his feet, Draco almost turned back at the bite in the wind. The real winter chill was here, the cold inching underneath all his layers to settle on his skin, goosebumps erupting up and down his arms. The decision was made for him, though, when he spotted the hazy figure of Potter by the lake shore. 

As he started walking towards him, Draco frowned as he realised the other boy wasn’t running like he usually did. He seemed to be walking slowly, back hunched over. Before Draco could react Potter stumbled, almost tilting over before managing to catch himself at the last minute. 

Before he knew it, Draco was running, a sinking sensation threatening to overtake him as he watched Potter sway where he stood. 

“Potter!” 

Draco skidded to a stop next to him, huffing as he tried to catch his breath, all the while staring at the other in concern. He looked pale, deep dark shadows pooling under his glossy eyes as he blinked in confusion. 

“Malfoy?” he mumbled, voice raspy. He seemed lost, _exhausted._

Draco reached out to catch him as the other swayed again, arms straining to hold onto him as Potter started growing limp. 

“Okay, Potter, you need to hold on,” Draco said softly, gently manoeuvring the other so they were facing the castle entrance. “We just need to make it to the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey will fix you right up.” 

Potter jolted. “No ‘m okay,” he tried to explain, struggling weakly against Draco’s hold before giving up, “No hospital wing. Please.” 

Draco stared at him in disbelief. 

“No Madam Pomfrey,” Potter repeated, almost leaning against Draco now, “‘m fine, I just need to sleep.” 

“Right then.” Draco nodded. “To the Gryffindor dorms then.” He mentally steeled himself to make the trek towards the part of the castle he religiously avoided. 

Potter mumbled something into his scarf, making Draco frown and ask, “I’m sorry, what?”

Potter flushed a little, the colour in his cheeks a stark contrast to the paleness of the rest of his face.

“I can’t sleep there.” 

“Is someone in your room or…?” 

“No, I _can’t_ fall asleep there,” Potter explained. “Too many people,” he added on softly, looking away in embarrassment. 

“Ah.” Draco grimaced. He could empathise with Potter, as weird as that felt. As he grappled with the decision to offer his space to Potter for one night, the decision was all but made for him when Potter stumbled again. Draco was almost carrying his entire weight now, and seeing Potter in this state, the same Potter who’d stood strong and confident at his family’s hearing to speak for him and his mother, was jarring. 

Draco sighed. “Come with me.”

“Where are we going?” 

Draco carefully helped Potter climb the stairs, shouldering the entrance gate open before guiding him inside. 

“I know a place.” 

It was a testament to just how out of it Potter was that he went along with Draco without complaint. Thankfully, given the time of morning, the castle was empty—even Mrs Norris was absent from her usual prowls in search of unsuspecting students. 

By the time they reached the classroom, Draco had broken into a sweat, growing nervous with Potter’s continued silence. He’d resorted to keeping up a running commentary as they walked, talking about anything he could think of. The house-elves in the kitchens and how they’d finally stopped trying to stuff extra pastries in his robes, the potions essay he’d been struggling with, and even the story of how he got his first broom. Though, with the last one, he gave up halfway through because thinking of his family wasn’t something he actively did these days. 

“Here you go,” he huffed, slightly out of breath as he finally helped Potter settle onto the sofa. A quick glance at his watch showed him there were still a few hours left before their first class of the day, eighth-years all taking lessons together. 

“What is this place?” Potter asked, getting comfortable amongst the cushions Draco had continued sourcing from all over the castle. 

“Just.” Draco let out a breath, gathering his third favourite blanket from the floor and dumping it onto Potter. “Don’t tell anyone about it. Okay?” 

Potter hummed sleepily. Within seconds he was snoring softly, making Draco frown and debate whether or not a Silencing Spell would be going overboard. 

As Draco settled into his usual spot on the window ledge, Transfiguration scroll in hand, he found his thoughts wandering back to Potter. He tried hard to ignore the other’s presence in the room by studiously focusing on the text in front of him, but Hubert’s Law of Matter Transference was even less engaging than usual. 

As his gaze once again drifted over to Potter, he allowed himself to stare. The “Potter” in his head, the impression he’d built over the years from that very first moment on the Hogwarts Express to the image of him speaking on Draco’s behalf in front of the entire Wizengamot, seemed to pale in comparison to the real person sleeping across the room.

Potter looked different. Tired, yes, but also matured in a way Draco didn’t feel yet. His face seemed more chiselled, age defining his cheekbones and jawline in a way that emphasised his features. There was even a hint of stubble around his jaw. Potter had grown into a handsome man, irrevocably changed by the last year. Draco still felt as if he stood on the cusp of adulthood.

It was also clear that the daily exercise had lent definition to his form, making him appear broader and sturdier. Very different from the small, thin boy Draco had first met. 

Draco jumped, shaken out of his stupor as Potter fidgeted a little, curling deeper under the blanket before he settled down again. He shook himself, glared at the sleeping boy for distracting him before forcing himself to go back to learning about Hubert’s boring law of useless things. 

He dozed off on the window ledge and woke two hours later with a jolt. He felt warmed by the morning sun next to the chill of the window. He’d been ready to try and sneak in a few more minutes of sleep while he was still drifting in and out of consciousness till he remembered the events of a few hours ago. Jolting up, he peered around the room with eyes half-open till he spotted the sofa and the glaring absence of anyone on it. Ignoring the twinge of disappointment, Draco took in the neatly folded blanket, the properly stacked cushions. 

Too lost in the indignation of being disappointed over Potter leaving while he slept, it took him a minute to spot the scrap of parchment placed over the blanket. A wandless _Accio_ brought it within reach, Draco grabbing it in mid-air to blink through sleep-heavy eyes at the messy scribble. 

> _“Thanks, Malfoy, I owe you one._
> 
> _I won’t tell anyone about this place.”_

~*~

Draco had thought that was the end of it. He helped Potter out once, took a risk that could come back to bite him in the arse, and that was it. He had spent the rest of the week nervous, distracted in class at the thought of finding the classroom cleared out of all his things, nowhere left for him to go.

He didn’t even want to entertain the thought of having to go back to the dorms; he’d rather go live out in Hagrid’s hut with his slobbering beast of a dog. 

As days passed and no one came knocking, Draco felt like he could finally relax. He’d sneakily ordered a wireless, using one of the school owls to place the mail order. He had been fiddling with the controls, trying to remember the spell for his preferred station that played the classics, when his attention was stolen by a knock on the door. 

He startled so bad that he almost dropped the wireless, fumbling with the device to get a grip on it before placing it carefully on the window ledge. He fixed his robes, debating whether he should take his wand before deciding against it since he couldn’t use it against someone without violating the terms of his sentence. 

He swung the door open and stared in confusion at Potter, standing before him with a cauldron in one hand, the other hand raised as if to knock again. 

“Malfoy, can—”

“What are you—”

Draco bit down on his bottom lip and glared at Potter, who just sheepishly smiled at him. He sighed and moved back, preferring to have this conversation inside rather than out in the open.

He decided to steam forward, no point in prolonging the inevitable. 

“Do I at least have enough time to clear out my things?” 

Potter blinked. “What?”

“This room.” Draco waved a hand to vaguely indicate the space around him. “How long till they make me leave?” 

“I dunno?” Potter had shrugged awkwardly, one arm curled tight around the cauldron. “Did anyone ask you to?”

“Isn’t that why you’re here?” 

“Of course not,” Potter explained with an affronted expression. “I told you I wouldn’t tell anyone about it!” 

Draco was confused, and it was apparently visible on his face since Potter felt the need to continue. 

“Malfoy, I promise you. I haven’t and will not tell anyone about this room. Do you believe me?” 

Potter waited, looking at him expectantly. Draco felt like he knew, without a doubt, that if he said no, Potter would leave and he’d still be safe in this space. And that was answer enough for him. 

“Sure, I guess.” 

He watched suspiciously as Potter smiled, nodding to himself once before carefully placing the cauldron on the floor between them. 

“This is for you,” he nudged the cauldron with his foot. 

“I have a very nice cauldron already, Potter.” 

The other rolled his eyes, drawing his wand in a swift move and using it to light a little fire in it. 

Draco found himself fascinated, leaning forward to take a closer look at the brightly flickering flame. It looked normal, except for the unusual purple edges and the fact that it was burning steadily without any wood, tethered to the cauldron. 

“It’s Hermione’s spell,” Potter explained, using his wand to heighten the flames and then lower them to a simmer again. “I—” He paused, stealing a quick glance at Draco before continuing, “I noticed how the Warming Charm would ebb a bit when the winds were stronger. I first tried to find a way to fix the wall, but it’s too big of a repair that it would risk attracting attention. So, here you go.” 

“Why?” Draco found himself asking before he could restrain himself.

Potter looked surprised at the question. “To thank you. For helping me that day.”

“Oh,” Draco said, momentarily speechless before years of having manners drilled into him paid off. “You’re welcome.” 

Draco expected him to leave right after. Potter lingered instead. Even as Draco squatted next to the cauldron and shot spell after spell to check for hidden charms and hexes, the other stayed. At one point, when Draco had exhausted his repertoire of defensive spells, he suggested a few more. He even helped Draco with the wandwork. 

It was only once Draco was satisfied with the authenticity of the cauldron and had levitated it over so it was situated closer to the couch, that he decided to speak up. 

“I haven’t seen you out in the mornings recently,” Draco casually stated, settling down next to the welcome heat of the flame. He tried not to visibly react to Potter sitting down as well. At least he was across from him.

Potter looked embarrassed, playing with the ends of the same garish scarf he’d worn every morning. Getting a closer look at it, Draco realised that what he had assumed were little specks of random colours were actually tiny Snitches. 

“Ron and Hermione made me see Madam Pomfrey, who just prescribed a Sleeping Draught like she’s done before. I’ve been trying it, but I hate how woozy it leaves me after.” 

Draco grimaced in sympathy. “Yeah, it’s partly because of the marrow root. I hate it, too.” 

“So, expect to see me tomorrow!” Potter smiled, obviously attempting to go for cheerful optimism, but he only came across as slightly unhinged. “Some days tiring myself out does help, so it’s my best bet for now.” 

Before Draco could ask something, Potter hurriedly spoke up again, looking flustered. “ _Not_ that I expect you to come out to see me. Or, you know, wait for you to show up or something. It’s okay either way. If you’re there in the morning or not. You know. It’s _fine._ ” 

“Right, okay.” Draco wondered if Potter was slightly delirious. He’d heard a lack of sleep could do that. “Anyway,” he continued on before Potter could ramble some more, “did you sleep well here?” 

Potter eagerly nodded, looking relieved at the change in topic. “Surprisingly, yes! I think the complete absence of people helped. Well, except for you. Since you were here. But that didn’t bother me. At all. I didn’t even notice you. Not that you’re easy to miss, Malfoy!” 

“Potter,” Draco sighed. He pinched the bridge of his nose, giving himself time to calm down before making a proposal he felt he might regret but seemed worth it. 

“You can sleep here, when you need to.”

~*~

With every passing week Potter’s visits grew more frequent. He began by showing up just one or twice a week, but Draco soon got used to seeing him every day. He had thought it would be odd, having to adjust to having someone in a space he had called his own, but Potter seemed to fit in a way he hadn’t expected.

Within a month, they had a routine down. Potter would show up some time after dinner, homework in hand. They would work in comfortable silence for a few hours, a soulful ballad streaming from the wireless and the crackling of the flames, a nifty addition by Granger, the only backdrop. 

By the time they were halfway through the night, one of them would start drifting off, the other following close behind. Draco tried not to think about how he was sleeping more these past few weeks, with Potter close to him, than he had since the start of the summer. 

Discussing homework questions once in a while soon turned into having full-blown conversations about everything and nothing. From song choices to who would sleep on the sofa—Potter, the gentlemen, forcing Draco to take it most days while he crashed on the carpet—they could talk about anything. While Draco was a little apprehensive about arguing with Potter and scaring him off, having gotten used to his presence, he was assured when, the night after a heated conversation about the right way to trim one's broomstick, Potter was back. Though he did bring with him a considerable pile of broom care books to prove his point, at least he was back. 

Winter holidays that year were, perhaps, Draco’s favourite from his entire time at Hogwarts. There were less than a handful of students staying behind, Draco and Potter included. They spent their days helping the Headmistress get some of the smaller repairs out of the way, and at night they retired to the room, which was now covered in festive decorations, complete with a little, stunted tree in one corner that Potter had explained, with flushed cheeks, he’d asked Hagrid to find him.

Commandeering spare baubles from the Great Hall, they had run to the room, a bottle of Butterbeer safely hidden in Draco’s robes. With Celestina Warbeck crooning a festive ballad in the background, they finished the bottle while absolutely covering the tree in glittering garlands and sparkling ornaments. 

Draco had watched, amazed, as Potter had transformed a spare roll of parchment into a little Snitch, complete with the etched markings around it. He’d handed it to Draco with a smile, the soft look in his eyes making Draco feel oddly light-headed. As their fingers had brushed, Draco found he couldn’t look away, had to make himself turn towards the tree and gently place it right at the top.

He had turned then and found Potter standing closer than before, looking nervous as he pointed above them. 

“Mistletoe.” 

Draco looked up and sure enough, levitating in the air above them was a bright sprig of mistletoe, tied together with a golden ribbon. Potter was looking at him, his eyes bright and full lips set in a determined pout. He didn’t move, gazing expectantly at Draco. 

Christmas at the Manor used to be the day he’d get whatever he asked for. There had been no gift, no toy, no new broomstick that he demanded and didn’t receive. It was the day all his wishes were fulfilled. 

He hadn’t felt that way in so long. 

Maybe, Draco hoped, stepping closer and wrapping an arm around Potter’s neck. Maybe this Christmas could be a little like those. 

He kissed Potter. 

It was short, their lips barely brushing before he leaned back a bit to judge Potter’s expression. The other didn’t let him go far though, finally raising an arm to wind across Draco’s waist and pulling him closer. This kiss was longer, heavier, filled with promise and nervousness and an overwhelming sense of _finally._

Draco sighed softly, whispering a soft kiss against Potter’s cheek before enveloping him in a hug. 

“Merry Christmas, Harry.”

~*~

Once classes restarted, Draco found himself sorely missing the few days of solitude he had managed to grab with Harry. Despite having had the chance to stay holed up in their room all day, they ventured out occasionally. They first dropped by the kitchens to charm the house-elves into sneaking them some of the eclairs Harry was so fond of and then found a quiet corner in the library to get a head start on readings.

If Draco had found himself distracted by Harry before, it was nothing compared to how utterly hopeless he felt now. Having Harry in the room was a challenge to his attention span. 

He wasn’t naive enough to think that things would be easy now. Draco had long gotten over any misconceptions he might have had that life, at any point, became easy. There were still things they argued about; the only thing that changed was the way they resolved those arguments. 

One such point of contention was their friends. Draco didn’t have many to start with, and any he was close to had long decided that Hogwarts was no longer the place for them. They were still in contact though; Pansy wrote the most regularly, letters filled with requests for him to visit or to take care of himself if he insisted on staying away. 

Harry’s feelings about his acquaintances were made abundantly clear any time either of them were brought up. Draco knew Harry didn’t mean it as a remark on him personally, but it still felt that way. 

As a result, when Harry asked if Draco would like to accompany him and his friends to Hogsmeade for lunch, he refused. “It would be the perfect chance to finally tell them about us,” Harry would reason with a stubborn Draco, who remained unconvinced.

Harry had reassured him that his friends were unaware of the existence of the room and trusted Harry when he said he was okay. He said they only cared that he was doing fine and looking healthier than he had in months. 

Still, Draco found himself unable to imagine a scenario where he would willingly join the trio for a lunch date. What would they even talk about? The fact that Draco’s friends had abandoned him to be stuck here alone and he probably deserved it? 

So he’d refuse every time Harry would ask and would spend the afternoon alone instead, busying himself in the schoolwork or, surprisingly, find himself near the greenhouses. 

He had always been pretty ambivalent towards Herbology. The thought of mucking about in dirt wasn’t really appealing, but he could appreciate the effects growing patterns had on herb potency in potion making. Being short of a N.E.W.T. subject, Draco figured Herbology would be an easier pick than History of Magic at least.

Professor Sprout had been nice enough, meeting him for a one-on-one conversation to understand his areas of study and how Herbology could fit in with them. While a career in Potions had always seemed like the obvious choice for him, he’d lately found himself unable to see a future in a career so largely influenced by his godfather. 

She’d suggested that he explore the different specialisations Hogwarts offered, and, having no valid counterargument besides he’d rather not, Draco found himself frequenting the greenhouses. Despite his misgivings, and his continued distaste for dirt, there was something oddly calming about the glass structures. 

Especially early in the mornings or later during the day, which is when he finally had the time to visit. With every visible surface covered in plants and pots of varying sizes and an array of earthy smells assaulting his senses, it was like entering an enclosed space that still made him feel like he could breathe. Though the walls were all glass, most of the outside view was obscured by leaves and vines of a multitude of shapes, colours and sizes. 

As the months went by he found himself spending more and more time among the plants, finding a penchant for regulating and growing some of the tougher plants needed for potion making. It was oddly cathartic, a connection to a form of magic he’d spent his formative years perfecting, yet different enough that he didn’t feel the familiar pangs of pain he felt while brewing. 

Professor Sprout had been ecstatic the first time he’d managed to coax the Blue Barks to bloom, the finicky plants needing specific ratios of water to sunlight in order to survive. Sparse with her praise—all Draco had received was a pat on the back and a “Good going, lad,”—Sprout bombarded him with suggestions, but they were enough to make him feel like all the quick trips between classes to regulate the plant’s shade were worth it.

Even Longbottom had managed to offer up a nod, more than he’d allowed Draco since the first time they’d come across each other in the greenhouses.

Within weeks Draco realised that Sprout had started assigning more of the finicky plants to his care. As a result, he started spending even longer hours reading and researching, often also bothering her at odd times of the day if he had a question. 

After one such impromptu meeting, Sprout had stopped Draco on his way out. They had spent over an hour going over his notes on the soil to fertiliser ratio for Mandrakes. She had hesitated a little and had asked Draco to grab a seat before asking if he was aware of the Herbology Institute. On hearing Draco’s unfamiliarity with it, she had filled him in. How it was one of the best schools for Herbologists interested in research. How each year she would recommend a student based on their abilities. 

She’d sent him off after with a request to read up on the Institute and its programs when he had the chance. While he had nodded in agreement then, Draco soon forgot about it as the N.E.W.T.s crept closer.

~*~

As Draco wondered how he would manage to shoulder the door open he heard Harry call out from behind him.

“I got it.”

Draco rushed in right after, carefully placing all the pots in his arms on one of the window ledges. He shook his arms out, a wave of sharp pain ran up and down due to the combined weight of all the heavy pots. 

“Doing a bit of re-decorating?” Harry asked, as he leaned against the wall. 

Draco scoffed. “This is research.” 

“Oh?”

“I’m trying to find the optimum amount of moonlight needed to get a Pillfreg seed to sprout.” 

“The ones we use in Anti-Venom Potions?” Harry asked, leaning forward with interest as Draco moved the pots around. He stuck a piece of parchment in front of each as a label. 

“ _Exactly_ the same,” Draco nodded, “Sprout thinks we can supplement the daily sun time with moonlight along with a Growing Charm to boost their growth rate from three months down to six weeks.”

Harry watched as Draco carefully placed a growing charm on each pot and noted their conditions on his parchment.

“Which ones are these?” Harry asked, pointing towards the three brightly coloured pots kept separate from the rest. 

“Those are just for fun.” He gently placed those under the sun. 

Harry softly nudged him with his shoulder, stroking a new, bright leaf. 

“They’re pretty.”

Draco glanced at him to find Harry staring at him. He flushed.

“Shut up.” he lightly shoved Harry and stalked over to the sofa. “Come on, let’s finish that Potions essay you’ve been putting off.”

Harry groaned dramatically, falling onto the carpet and pouting up at Draco. 

“I still have four days,” he complained, rolling over and propping his head up on one arm. “Say, Draco, what are you doing after graduation?”

Draco paused from where he was rifling through his bag. The abrupt change of topic threw him off. He frowned, confused, over at Harry. 

“I’m sorry?” 

Harry idly played with a stray thread on the carpet. “You know, in June. What do you have planned?” 

“I’m not sure…” Draco trailed off, surprised at the fact that it’s _true_. He truly had no plans for after. He had been so content with his life right now that, for once, he had not been worried about the future.

It was a very new feeling. 

“I was wondering,” Harry hesitated, looking up at Draco. “How do you feel about travelling a bit? 

“Travelling?”

“Yeah,” Harry continued, “we can explore the continent, maybe go farther?” 

_We._

Draco tried to control the smile threatening to take over. 

“Sure,” Draco said, dropping down onto the carpet next to Harry. “That sounds fun.”

He didn’t have to plan for the future alone. 

Draco leaned down just as Harry rose up, meeting each other in the middle.

~*~

Before he knew it, he was standing in the middle of the classroom, staring at this space that he’d unknowingly filled with almost everything he owned. In less than four hours, the Final Feast would start, McGonagall would make a time-honoured speech about new beginnings, and everyone would cheer about inconsequential achievements like house points.

He sighed, getting started on clearing out the easier things. He was only halfway through sorting out the parchments strewn about the window ledge he’d commandeered for his N.E.W.T. studies when Harry finally walked in. 

“There you are, I’ve been _humpff_ —”

Harry grinned cheekily as he stole a kiss, swooping in for more till Draco’s glare melted into something a little fonder. 

“I asked you to wait for me,” Harry chided, rolling up his sleeves as he settled down in front of Draco. 

Draco shuffled the larger pile of parchment towards Harry, ignoring the affronted expression thrown his way. He leaned back against the sofa, lazily waving his wand to start piling the cushions against the wall. It was as he was staring at the growing pile with concern, _when did he even manage to pilfer this many from the common room? Were the cushions breeding behind their backs?_ that his attention was grabbed by Harry suddenly exclaiming in surprise. 

He glanced over and found Harry staring at what appeared to be a letter. 

“What is it?” 

Harry wordlessly passed it over to him, making Draco sit up and hurriedly grab it. 

_“Dear Mr Potter,_

_It gives me great pleasure to inform you that the Department of Magical Law Enforcement would like to offer you a Trainee position within our Auror Training Program. While traditional offers are dependent on N.E.W.T. performances and interviews, your caliber and expertise come highly recommended by Mr Thomas Wolfe._

_If you’d like to meet…”_

Draco stopped reading, ignoring the formalities listed to stare back at Harry. He could feel a slow, rolling wave of panic simmering just under the surface, making it difficult for him to think. 

“Who is this Thomas Wolfe?” he asked instead, trying to take it one step at a time.

Harry was still looking at the letter clutched tightly in Draco’s hand, brow furrowed. “He was one of the examiners for my Defence Against the Dark Arts N.E.W.T.” 

“Ah.”

“This is crazy,” Harry said, running a hand through his hair. “I wasn’t even _sure_ about applying to the Auror Program. I just asked him a few questions about his experience.” 

Draco frowned. “So you’ve considered it?”

“Huh?” 

“The Auror Program,” Draco explained slowly, feeling the letter crumple in his fist. “You’ve thought about applying?” 

“Well, yeah, I just wanted to know what it's like.’’ Harry pushed his glasses up to rub tiredly at his eyes. “My dad was an Auror, too,” he added softly. 

Draco released his hold on the letter, smoothing it out a little. 

“Congratulations,” he said, leaning towards Harry to press a soft kiss against his cheek and carefully laying the wrinkled letter down on his lap. 

He could panic about the future later, when he was alone and wouldn’t rain on Harry’s moment. A part of him wanted to remind Harry that they’d decided they were going to travel. That they had talked about not knowing what to do after leaving Hogwarts but it was okay because they’d at least be figuring it out together. 

The not knowing had seemed less daunting then, when he was sure there would be someone with him. However, as Draco watched Harry go over the letter again, he could feel the uncertainty ready to rise and overwhelm him again. 

He managed to shoot Harry a smile when he looked up. To Draco’s surprise Harry looked reassured at that. Like he had been waiting for Draco’s approval. 

Like Draco would ever willingly come between something Harry maybe wanted just because he didn’t want to be left aimless alone. 

“I’ll think about it. I don’t need to decide right now, I guess,” Harry mused, moving back to sorting through the rest of the pile.

~*~

Harry started the Trainee Program two weeks out of Hogwarts.

It was days upon days of theoretical studies on spell work and damage, practical hours on forms of combat, ward breaking and spell detection. It was more work that Harry had imagined.

It was also more hours alone than Draco was prepared for. A month ago, when Harry and he had been making plans to spend their days relaxing by the small pond on the Manor grounds, Draco had been _almost_ excited to be back in the place he once called home. 

However, the reality was a lot different. The Manor was as dark and chilling as he’d remembered, the never-ending corridors and looming portraits doing nothing to make him welcome. His mother had already written to him five times since the end of the year, urging him to join her in Nice, using the weather, the food, even the abundance of single men as an excuse. 

He’d spend his days drifting from room to room, finding himself growing uneasy staying within a space for too long. He knew it was probably in his head, but the very air in the Manor seemed to vibrate with hidden malevolence. Like the acts it had witnessed over the past few years had seeped into the very core of its magic. 

The two house-elves hanging around his periphery added to his discomfort. He knew them, had grown up seeing them around the Manor, but the thought of them relying on him for directions and order as the Malfoy Heir was more than he could handle right then.

Most days all he wanted to do was to leave, go back to his room at Hogwarts, find Harry lounging on that ratty sofa and curl into him to feel warm again. 

Harry. That was another topic he was trying hard not to think too much about. It was difficult though, to go from spending more than half his day with someone to only being able to catch up via rushed Floo calls and a single, brief visit. He was trying not to feel too upset about it; he knew Harry had a lot on his plate with first getting the required paperwork and the medical tests done and then the actual Trainee Program itself. 

It didn’t change the fact that he felt devastatingly alone (abandoned).

The one solace the Manor offered was the sprawling gardens, acres upon acres of open land that was once the best in the country but was now the perfect representation of what the Malfoy name stood for. Drained and dry, no remainder of the splendour they once held. It gave Draco something to do, the familiarity of digging through soil to carefully nurture something became the bright spot of his days. 

The house-elves followed him when he was outside, rushing over each other to help lift the sacks of fertiliser and top grade soil he ordered. They grew quiet anytime he glanced at them, freezing where they stood till he looked away. It was only after the second ripped bag—thanks to their little tug of war over who would carry it—that Draco gave in, he tersely asked Milly to move the fertiliser while Zeb fetched the water. 

He wouldn’t say he was content spending his days like this, finding the least uncomfortable corner of the Manor to research on what he could plant in the gardens. The majority of his days were spent planting what he’d ordered, relying on owl post for those, the sun warming the back of his neck till it hurt. It was a new normal he felt he could _eventually_ get used to.

Besides his packages the only post he got was from his mother, whose letters arrived, without fail, every Tuesday and Saturday. Their own little tradition since his first year at Hogwarts. This was why he was pleasantly surprised the morning he awoke to find an unfamiliar owl waiting for him next to his bedroom window. Rubbing sleep from his eyes, he stumbled over, taking the letter and dropping a few treats for the owl. 

“Oh,” he exclaimed, recognising Professor Sprout’s handwriting on the front of the letter. He eagerly tore it open, getting comfortable on his bed to carefully read through the surprisingly long letter. 

He sat there, stunned, once he was done. The letter lay open in front of him as he went over the words again. His first instinct was to share the news with Harry. 

“Grimmauld Place,” he called, impatiently tapping his fingers on the grate. The Floo chimed, once, twice before dying out. 

Draco sat back, disappointed. If the Floo was locked, it meant Harry wasn’t home. With how erratic Harry’s schedule was, Draco wasn’t surprised to find no one home despite it being only nine am. 

They talked twice a week, each Floo call shorter than the last as Harry struggled to stay awake. Draco was finding it harder each time to keep the resentment he felt at bay, that Harry picked something that was keeping him so occupied while Draco struggled to find tasks to keep himself busy. 

Draco knew Harry was busy. He knew Harry was trying to make an effort. 

He just wasn’t sure when it would start being not enough.

~*~

The clock struck ten and Draco finally decided there was no point waiting anymore.

It was the third time Harry had promised he would be there only to get delayed or held up somewhere. Draco had been okay with it so far, had tried to be patient and understanding. But not anymore because this time Harry had promised. He had sworn up and down he would be there. 

He was supposed to be there for Draco’s birthday. 

It was as Draco was about to turn in for the night, the lights in the Manor dimmed, that he heard the downstairs Floo chime. He was sorely tempted to just turn the lights off and go to bed. The anger that simmered under his skin was dangerously close to boiling over, and he wasn’t sure how or when it would explode. 

“Draco?”

Draco sighed, he grabbed a dressing gown and made his way downstairs. He walked into the sitting room to find Harry sprawled on an armchair. He looked _absolutely_ exhausted. 

Draco steeled himself. 

“Draco,” Harry said, looking apologetic. “I’m so sorry. There was a combat practice that ran over and I couldn’t leave even—”

“It’s always something, isn’t it?” Draco cut him off, he leaned tiredly against the door. He hadn’t felt like going any closer. 

Harry sat up, staring at Draco. “Excuse me?”

“It’s always something at work, Harry. Either you have to study or you need to have drinks with the Senior Aurors. There’s just always something else going on, but _we_ are never a priority.”

“That’s not fair, Draco. You _know_ I need to work harder than the others. I don’t want to give anyone a chance to say I only got into the program because of my name.” 

“Please,” Draco bit back, he was standing away from the door now. “Spending a night or two a week away will not make anyone doubt your abilities and you know that.” 

“What are you trying to say?”

“I’m saying,” Draco answered clearly, “that you have a lot of priorities, but I haven’t been one of them for a while. Heck, I’m not even asking you to drop everything to see me, but at least act like _you still care about how I’m doing_.” By the end of it Draco was almost shouting, his voice echoed across the empty hallway behind him. 

Harry looked shocked. 

“ _Of course_ , I care,” he exclaimed, “I can’t believe you would even say that.” 

“You haven’t given me any reason to feel differently, Harry,” Draco whispered, the fight seeping out of him. “I’m just so tired of being the only one fighting. I can’t do it anymore.”

Harry took a step forward. He looked scared. 

“What are you saying?”

“Professor Sprout wrote to me a few days ago,” Draco said, looking straight at Harry. “She recommended me for a Fellowship at the Institute of Herbology in France.” 

Harry stared as Draco continued. 

“I wasn’t sure if it was for me. I was just overjoyed that she even considered me for it, but,” Draco explained, feeling his heart race, “I’m going to take it.” 

“What?” Harry asked, his eyes shone with unshed tears. 

“I’m moving to France.”

~*~

Draco left a week later, the Manor packed and the house-elves sent to live with his mother till he returned. If he ever did.

Harry had tried hard to reason with him, refusing to accept what was right in front of him. Draco could somewhat empathise. Harry hadn’t been the one to spend day after day waiting for a single moment of recognition from the other. To him, this was a total surprise. 

He still had his moments of doubt. The thought of uprooting himself and moving all the way across the world was terrifying. 

Sprout had been ecstatic at his acceptance, she had raved about the program and their areas of research for hours over their Floo call. 

Before he knew it, it was time to go. With one last look at the sprawling gardens outside, the months of effort he put into them, Draco set the final ward on the Manor and Disapparated.


	2. when you lay alone, i ache

Draco neatly pins the badge handed to him to the front of his robes. 

_Draco Malfoy - Specialist, DMLE_

The witch hadn’t reacted at all to hearing his name. In stark contrast to his last visit to the Ministry, though that had happened over four years ago. His hearing and all the required visits to the Ministry feel like they happened in another lifetime. 

Much like the indifferent witch at the welcome desk, the Ministry had changed considerably. The Atrium is more open now, the towering pillars replaced with rows of Floos and what seem to be rotating doors, witches and wizards walking out every few turns. 

He’s taking in the changes when he spots a man walking towards him, the cheery smile on his face making Draco smile back politely. 

“Mr Malfoy,” the dark-haired man greets, shaking Draco’s hand enthusiastically. “I’m Christopher Everly, with the Office of Forensics. We’re so glad you could make it at such short notice.”

“I’m not sure how I can assist, to be honest. My line of work focuses more on research than on solving cases,” Draco remarks, following Everly towards the back of the Atrium from where multiple lifts are zooming in and out every second. 

Everly laughs. “Well, the point we’re at right now, your research and expertise is exactly what we need.” He gestures for Draco to get onto the lift ahead of him, following behind and dragging the metal gates closed. 

The lift shudders and groans, making Draco nervously glance around them, wondering if this is how it really ends for him. He only let’s go of his tight grip on the handrail when the lift stutters to a stop, doors opening with a loud clang and an announcement— _Level 2, Department of Magical Law Enforcement_.

“Right this way.” 

Everly leads the way, dodging overflowing carts filled with scrolls of varying sizes being slowly pulled by Ministry elves. There are memos zooming above them, a constant traffic of paper that swoops along the roof, veering and dodging collisions with ease. 

“The whole team should be in today,” Everly chats as they walk, the Office of Forensics seemingly located right at the end of the floor. “They’ve all been quite eager to meet you.” 

Draco nods, tightening the hold on his bag as a team of Aurors runs past them. The uniform makes him nervous, less for what it signifies and more for what it reminds him of. Or more specifically, _whom_ it reminds him of.

They finally make it to the end of the corridor, in front of an inconspicuous door with a potted ficus next to it. There’s a shiny plaque on the other side of the door. 

_Office of Forensics._

Everly holds the door open for Draco, inviting him in with a smile. The office itself, in typical Ministry fashion, is a lot larger on the inside than it appears on the outside. There are two corridors that branch off from the main entrance, three doors running down each. At the end of the first corridor is what appears to be a glass conference room, Draco can spot three people seated inside. 

It’s towards that room that Everly starts walking, casually explaining how the Office is structured across different sub-departments, with the Field Agents using this corridor while the Lab has the entire other space. 

He knocks once on the door before walking in, the occupants of the room pausing their conversation to face the new entrants. The woman nearest to the door seems to be around his age, with light brown hair tied neatly at the nape of her neck. The man next to her looks older, smart glasses perched at the bridge of his nose, clearly visible laugh lines signalling his age. Sitting across from them is a much older woman, greying hair pulled back into a stern bun, though the expression is softened by the smile on her face as she rises to greet Draco. 

“Mr Malfoy,” she shakes his hand, grip warm, “thank you for accepting our request. I’m Madeline Hanes, Director at the Office of Forensics.”

Draco smiles, taking the seat offered and settling down next to her. 

“This is David Bronan, he’s the Field Agent assigned to the case as well as our liaison with the Auror Office.” 

Bronan shoots him a cheeky salute, rolling slightly on his chair.

“Emma Way is our Expert on Potions and Herbology.” 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr Malfoy.” Way smiles. Draco recognises her name from the letters—she was the one who reached out to him. “I really enjoyed your paper on the impact of planetary angles on Darkwort potency.” 

“Ah, thank you,” Draco says bashfully, settling into his seat “It was a long and arduous process tracking all variables and finding optimum conditions, but the results were pleasantly surprising.” 

Whatever she was about to say next is cut off by the sound of the door opening with a bang. 

“Sorry, sorry.” Someone rushes into the room, the door clanging shut behind them. “Traffic was brutal and _someone_ had trouble waking up this morning.” 

Draco feels his breath catch, the voice so inherently familiar yet feeling different, the tone deeper than he remembered. 

“Potter,” the Director chides, turning to Draco with an apologetic expression. “This is Mr Potter, our Deputy Director and Expert on Spell Tracking.” 

Harry looks older, smarter. His hair seems to have finally grown into some semblance of style, making him look more put together than the Harry he remembers. He looks sturdier too, his shoulders filling in the robes in a way they didn’t before. 

More than anything, he looks well rested though slightly harried. 

Draco feels a pang of hurt, whether at himself for not being here to see Harry grow into this version of himself or at Harry for not staying the way Draco left him, he’s not sure. 

“Draco.” Harry smiles shyly. He doesn't look even half as surprised as Draco feels right now. “It’s nice to see you again.” 

Draco can only nod, shaking Harry’s hand. His grip feels different too, calluses where there were none before. 

“Mr Potter was the one to suggest we send you an owl,” Emma offers. “I was doubtful if you would reply but he said there’s no harm in trying.” 

Draco shoots him a look, finding Harry staring right back at him. 

“Right, let’s start discussing why we’re here then?”

~*~

“Draco!”

Draco’s near the lifts, finally done with the meeting. The conversation lasted over three hours, Draco’s questions making the team go over certain points multiple times.

The case facts only confirm what he suspected when they first wrote to him. While the base potion was probably a standard Sleeping Draught, the reactant added was a hybrid of one of the more common ingredients. The question was: _which_ ingredient was it and what had it been cross-bred with to create the new, more potent version? 

They didn’t necessarily need him here; Emma seemed more than capable of figuring this out eventually. However, time was of the essence—as they reminded him multiple times—and they were counting on his expertise in the area of hybrid plants and their impact on potion potency to help them expedite the process. 

Harry calls again, making Draco frown and finally turn away from the lifts. 

“Yes?”

Harry catches up to him, taking a minute to catch his breath. He looks flushed, no longer in the robes he was wearing. He’s wearing a blue tie with the knot off centre over a slightly wrinkled blue shirt tucked into smart, grey trousers. 

“Do you have a minute?” 

“Not really,” he sighs. “I need to get to the Manor and get things set up.” 

“Oh, okay. Do you think you’d have a free moment any time soon?” 

Draco bites down on his lip, cursing himself for still feeling soft for Harry’s _kicked-puppy expression_. 

He is already wondering if he’ll regret the offer.

“Drop by the Manor on Saturday, around noon.” 

He doesn’t stay back to hear Harry’s answer, stepping onto the open lift and swiftly shutting the door. When he finally looks out, Harry is still standing there.

~*~

Draco debated just renting a flat near Diagon rather than dealing with the hassle of moving back to the Manor. Despite the long list of pros for the flat, he finds himself back in the familiar sitting room, wrinkling his nose at the slight musty smell.

Milly and Zeb are busy collecting all the draped sheets. Draco helps by using his wand to arrange and move around the furniture till he’s satisfied. He’s not sure how long he’s here for, but he refuses to live just as he did the last time he was home.

This was his house, and he’s sure he can make it have some semblance of a home once again. Leaving the rest of the cleaning up to the elves, Draco decides to tackle the more pressing issue first. In order to get down to testing different hybrid variants of the core plant ingredients, he needs an enclosed space, preferably outside, where he can alter conditions as needed. 

Rather than trudging around the Manor grounds, he pulls out the old house blueprints. Grabbing his second cup of tea for the day, he leans over the massive scroll, squinting at some of the smaller writing along the grounds. The original layout of the Manor and its property is pretty much the same as the day it was constructed; the only things that have been added are the ridiculously ornate statues and fountains by his great-grandmother. 

He’s debating tearing the maze down while he’s here—he always hated the blasted thing since he got lost in it when he was six—when he comes across a small plot of land that has no label but for his great-great-grandmother’s name, Celestina Malfoy. 

Draco’s pretty sure he’s never seen that spot of land before. 

Curious, he grabs his wand and heads outside, the midday sun pleasantly warm. Within minutes he’s at the maze, walking around it to reach the other end. As he turns the corner, he raises a hand to block the direct sunlight and squints through the glare. 

There, right in front of him, is what appears to be an arboretum. 

Draco stares, certain he’s never come across this structure, despite walking through this patch of the gardens many times before. It’s all metal and glass, the panes slightly dusty, but he can make out shapes and greenery behind them. The building is about five times the size of Hagrid’s hut, with the highest point of the domed roof towering over thirty feet above the ground. 

He walks closer, taking in the faint shimmer of magic in the air around it. A Stasis Charm, Draco realises, feeling it brush over him as he reaches for the door. 

The inside is alive and bursting with energy. Endless varieties of trees surround him, the leaves healthy and bright despite not having been tended to in decades. He can spot Bowtruckles sprinting along the nearest tree, hear the faint trill of birds in the distance. 

It’s magical.

Draco spends hours in there, inspecting, cataloguing and marvelling over the diversity of plant life. There’s a work shed towards the back, housing tools that were more commonly preferred about a hundred years ago, the only items in this space that give away its age. Located right under the dome is an elevated platform, rising above the treeline. There are steps right under it to lead the way up, the wood lightly scuffed in places showing frequent use. The messy piles of books and rolls of parchment burying the surface of the lone table are tempting; Draco is eager to learn more about the place and its secrets. 

By the time the sun starts to set, he already has a stretch of land near the eastern wall cleared out for his use, the conditions perfect for him to run his experiments. 

He leaves reluctantly, glancing back at the structure even as he rounds the corner of the maze. He hopes it’s still there when he comes back.

~*~

It is. And then again the day after.

He didn’t find any mention of it in any of the family journals, poring over each at night to find an explanation for its existence. He’s busy from the moment the sun rises, starting with checking the conditions from the night before to then researching possible hybrid combinations to test. 

His analysis of the potions sample Emma sent him is enough to help him narrow down the possible culprits to four standard ingredients—hellebore, valerian root, lavender and porcupine quills. 

The last ingredient will be handled by Emma and the other experts at the lab, while Draco will take care of the first three. He has to start by isolating each ingredient, studying their nature to plot possible variants and then test each hybrid with the potion to measure against potency. 

The weekend is there before he knows it. 

There’s a rapidly growing pile of boxes collecting in the foyer—a mix of his things from France, new furniture pieces for his bedroom and a supply of the materials needed for his research. His original plan for the weekend was to get started on clearing out that pile and finally setting up his bedroom. However, after a quick breakfast, where he spends more time poring over his notes rather than eating, he sets off for the arboretum. 

Though he took down the Stasis Charm—he needs more organic conditions to test viability—there’s still a shimmer of magic around the glass structure. It tickles his skin as he passes through, almost as a welcome. Milly and Zeb have instructions not to disturb him while he’s in here, but the fresh cup of tea every few hours shows they’re still checking on him. 

He’s shed his outer coat and rolled up his sleeves by the time the sun is at its peak, the temperature charms doing their work by diminishing the direct heat of the noonday sun. Deep in thought, Draco misses the faint knock on the glass door, the sound of leaves crunching underfoot and the unmistakable shuffle of sneakers on dirt. 

“Draco?”

Draco startles, almost falling over. He sits back on the ground, shielding his eyes from the direct glare of the sun as he looks up to find Harry. 

With a child in his arms.


	3. fallen star, i’m your one call away

Harry takes a step forward, making Draco scramble to stand. He’s trying hard not to obviously stare, but it’s difficult when the boy himself seems to have no such regards, his big brown eyes staring unblinking at Draco. 

“Sorry,” Harry stands there awkwardly as Draco dusts himself off. “I didn’t mean to startle you.” 

“Not your fault,” Draco says. “I forgot I mentioned Saturday.” 

Harry smiles sheepishly. “I should have sent an owl asking if you’re still available.” 

Draco hums, making his way towards the door. He gestures for Harry to follow him, the boy still quiet in his arms. He wonders how long Harry has been around the boy to be so at ease carrying him around. 

The sense of comfort he once felt around Harry is starkly absent. Draco isn’t sure if it’s because of the time apart or the way they parted, but it’s enough to throw him off a little. He feels unbalanced in a way he hasn’t in a while. 

Lost in thought, Draco takes a while to feel the touch on his head. He turns his head to find the boy with his hand outstretched, little fingers reaching out towards his hair. 

He whines as Draco’s movement moves his hair out of reach, drawing Harry’s attention to his action. Harry chuckles, gripping the tiny hand in his to bring it down. 

“Harry,” the child cries, wiggling till he’s leaning out of Harry’s hold, stretched towards Draco. “I want!”

“Sorry,” Harry apologises, trying to keep the boy from falling. “He has a fascination with hair these days. You should see him around Hermione.” 

His retort is lost as the child huffs, settling back against Harry’s chest with a pout, his hair turning the exact silver-blond as Draco’s. 

Draco gapes, amazed. It is like staring at a mini version of himself. 

“That’s amazing,” Draco remarks, any awkwardness he felt forgotten as he leans closer to take a better look. “Metamorphmagi are quite rare, let alone ones this young.” 

“His mother was one,” Harry says softly, lightly brushing back the child’s hair. He no longer seems upset, once again looking around them, eyes filled with curiosity. “Andromeda mentioned Tonks’s abilities also manifested this early.”

_Andromeda._

Draco bites back a gasp of recognition, realising just who the child is. Teddy Lupin, his aunt’s grandchild. Looking at Teddy now he feels deep sorrow settle in him at what the child has lost already. His mother had acted like she was fine when she had been informed of her sister’s passing but Draco knew better. 

He had been there to see her silently weep every night for a week. 

The sombre mood is broken by Teddy’s excited shriek. He’s pointing a chubby little finger towards their left, at one of the peacocks that is staring back at them just as curiously. 

Draco tenses, wand at the ready. Those blasted birds have been the bane of his existence lately since they realised Draco sometimes has seeds on him on his way to the arboretum. 

“Harry look at the bird, like in the book!” Teddy yells, beckoning the peacock closer. 

Draco blinks. 

“Um.” He clears his throat, herding Harry towards the door to the sunroom. “Let’s head in.” 

They don’t stay long after, just enough for Harry and Draco to get the more common questions out of the way. Their conversation is stilted in a way it never was before.

The highlight of Draco’s afternoon had been Teddy’s fascination with the house-elves. He had followed them around, asking all sorts of questions. The panicked expression on their faces as they tried to keep him entertained while also being over cautious whenever he wobbled or walked too close to a sharp corner was well worth the visit.

~*~

It takes two weeks for Draco to further isolate which plants can form successful hybrids and then start testing reactant bases.

He’s been able to write off the lavender, leaving behind only hellebore and valerian root. That itself is enough for the Aurors at Forensics to start tracking down suppliers for those ingredients. It’s not much, but it’s a better understanding than where the team was before Draco joined. 

He starts spending more time at the Ministry, poring over ledgers and documents taken from different suppliers to find any striking anomalies that can offer a direction for him to take in his research. He has multiple hybrid strains going at the same time, but to test each would take a while. 

Working with Emma is challenging, her sharp wit and extensive knowledge in the subject making her an excellent sounding board for Draco’s ideas. She knows exactly when to push and the right questions to ask when they brainstorm. 

Surprisingly, Draco sees Harry more than he thought he would, considering this isn’t even a case he’s a part of. Harry seems to have a knack for knowing when Draco’s in, dropping by with a cup of tea or, once, a bag of lemon cakes that he mentions picking up “just because.” 

While Draco tries to get his work done quickly and be out of the Ministry as soon as possible, he can’t help but notice the fact that Harry never stays past five. Like clockwork, he’s out of the office at the same time every evening. It makes Draco curious; the Harry he remembers often stayed back at work till the late evening on the regular. 

He gets his answer the one time Draco gets carried away in his discussion with Emma. It is past seven by the time he realises. On his way out of the department, he’s surprised to spot Harry pacing in front of the lifts. Even as far away as he is, it is clear to Draco that Harry is clearly agitated, one hand running through his hair like it always does when he is stressed. 

“Harry?” 

Harry turns, surprised. He smiles on seeing Draco, though he keeps glancing at the lifts impatiently. 

“Hi, working late today?” 

Draco nods, arching his aching back tiredly. “I could say the same for you.” 

“Yeah, there was a department meeting that ran late.” Harry sighs. “Madeline usually attends those but she’s taking time off this week, so I had the pleasure of listening to the head of the Auror Trainee Program complain about budget cuts.”

Draco frowns in sympathy, watching as Harry presses the lift button again. As they wait, Draco brings up something he’d been wondering since the day Harry had come over to the Manor but hadn’t had the chance to ask. 

“I was wondering, why did you quit the Auror Trainee Program?” 

“To be honest, I had been considering it for a while,” he says, giving Draco his full attention. “Umm.” He pauses then, playing with the strap of his bag. “I almost quit once before, after you left?” 

The direct reference to their conversation and his departure makes Draco freeze. 

“I didn’t then,” Harry continues hurriedly. “I thought if I’d already put in so much time, I might as well see it all the way through. Then a few months later they started talking about placements and teams we’d like to be a part of, and honestly, none of them appealed to me. That was it then.” 

As a lift finally arrives, Harry sighs in relief. He rushes in and presses the button for the Atrium, Draco following behind him. 

“What made you pick Forensics?” Draco asks, curious. 

Harry hums thoughtfully. “It’s a newer office, you know. They had only started putting together the team when Madeline reached out to me. She was an instructor for the Trainee Program and thought I’d be a good fit. It seemed different enough that it excited me and I could also use everything I’d learned so it didn’t go to waste.” 

The lift pauses at every other floor, witches and wizards getting on and off. With each subsequent stop the frown on Harry’s face deepens, the glances he shoots at his watch getting longer. 

“Exciting plans?” Draco points to the watch at Harry’s confused look. 

“Oh, nothing like that,” he explains, moving aside to let a witch carrying a crate pass. “Teddy’s day care ends at five, and I’m _beyond_ late today.” 

He looks so unhappy, the thought of making little Teddy wait for him making him look more anxious than Draco has ever seen him. 

They finally make it to the Atrium, Harry being the first one to run off. He pauses near the revolving doors, looking back to wave at Draco. 

He’s almost through when Draco calls out to him, making an impulsive decision. 

“I found some of my old toys while cleaning up,” Draco hurries to catch up to Harry. “I was wondering if Teddy might like to have them.” 

“Oh,” Harry smiles, the soft, very _Harry_ smile that Draco could once never get enough of. “I’m sure he would love to, thank you.” 

“Come over this weekend,” Draco offers. “I’ll have them out for him to take his pick.” 

Harry nods, finally heading through the doors. Draco stands there for a bit till the wizard behind him grumbles pointedly, making him flush and move aside.

~*~

Teddy spends hours trying each toy. He’s careful with them in a way Draco never was at his age, playing a little with each and then placing them back.

In the end, he only picks the toy broomstick, giggling in excitement as Harry helps him climb on. The broomstick is Charmed to hover a few inches above the ground. Draco had absolutely loved it as a child. Seeing Teddy on it, however, he’s also filled with concern, and though he knows Harry is there to take care of him, Draco tenses each time Teddy so much as wobbles. 

When Draco gently pushes him to take more toys, he stubbornly refuses. He wants to leave them there so he can play with Milly and Zeb next time. 

After that weekend, Harry and Teddy start dropping by more often. 

Harry brings Teddy by in the evenings, saying it's good for him to tire himself out before bed. Unlike the first time Harry always sends an owl beforehand, waiting for Draco to confirm his availability before dropping by. 

Teddy is still a little shy in front of Draco, opting for one-line answers and preferring to hide behind Harry or try to get the elves to play with him. Draco tries to tell himself it’s okay—he’s never been too fond of kids to start with—but a part of him wants Teddy to like him, to be as playful with him as he is with Harry. 

It’s in the arboretum that he gets to see more of Teddy’s inquisitive side. They usually just spend time in the same parlour, Draco and Harry either working or chatting softly on the couch as they keep an eye on Teddy. One Sunday, however, Draco is busy monitoring the valerian root when they drop by. Harry seems apologetic, offering to come back another time, when Draco spots the curiosity in Teddy’s eyes. 

He beckons him closer, waiting till Teddy is squatting next to him to carefully place a little soil in his tiny palm.

“Pat it in like this,” Draco shows him, watching as Teddy lightly pats the soil into the plant bed, looking up at Draco for approval after. At his nod, Teddy lights up, eagerly thrusting his palm out for more. 

“Are you sure he won’t accidentally spoil anything?” Harry asks cautiously, keeping an eye on Teddy slowly making his way down the row. Draco shakes his head, noting down his observations to send to Emma. 

“Those are just leftover lavender I’m harvesting for mother,” Draco explains, pausing to offer Teddy a “Good job. Try the next one”. 

With each passing day Draco feels closer to a breakthrough, the investigation narrowed down to two possible additives. If he can identify the right one, Emma can run it through their list of suppliers to note which of them had access to it. 

It happens on a Wednesday, about five weeks since his return. Draco carefully places some of the _just_ brewed Calming Draught in a vial and casts the spell on it. He waits with bated breath as the spell works, waiting for it to either change colour to indicate potency of the contaminant or stay the same. 

The potion turns green. 

Draco gasps in awe, making Harry look over. Teddy had been busy trying to water the mini flower pots Draco had put aside for him, but every time he tried to lift the child sized watering can one of the elves would rush over to help him. 

Harry raises an eyebrow at Draco, takes in the vial in his hand and stares at him in surprise. 

“Is that—”

Draco nods excitedly, taking care when placing the vial under a stasis to send to Emma. 

“You did it!” Harry cheers, rushing over to where Draco stands. “Oh my God, Draco, you’re brilliant!” 

He flushes, it’s not the first time Harry’s ever praised him but he’s never gotten used to the easy way Harry does it. 

“I need to get this to Emma as soon as possible,” Draco says, giddy, trying to gather everything he needs to send. 

“Let me take it,” Harry offers, already grabbing the papers and vial and placing them in a bag he Transfigures from a spare apron. “It’ll be faster than sending it by owl.”

Draco nods, relieved, knowing it’s true. Till he suddenly remembers, “What about Teddy?” 

Harry pauses for a second. “I can drop him off with Mrs Weasley really quick, don’t worry.”

Teddy looks up at his name, distracted. The watering can swerve and almost sprays water everywhere, but Zeb takes hold of it in time. 

“He can stay here,” Draco suggests hesitantly, “if he’s okay with it, that is.” 

“Hey, bud,” Harry crouches next to Teddy, gently brushing away the dirt on his cheek, “I have to run to the Ministry for a bit. Do you mind staying here with Draco till then?” 

Teddy bites his lip, looking up at Draco. 

“Will Draco read to me?” he asks Harry, refusing to look at Draco. 

Draco’s confusion must have been apparent for Harry to subtly tilt his head towards Teddy’s backpack. 

“Ah,” Draco exclaims, “of course, whatever you want to read.” 

It takes a few seconds but Teddy nods, satisfied. He reaches up his arms for a hug that Harry happily obliges for. He whispers something into Harry’s ear that makes Harry hug him tighter, lifting him off the ground for a few seconds till Teddy laughs. 

“I’ll be back soon, okay?” Harry says, almost as if he’s reassuring both Draco and Teddy, and then he’s gone.

Draco takes in a deep breath once Harry leaves and decides to clear out the rest of his things later. 

He turns to Teddy, who is already looking at him shyly, one hand tugging a belt loop on his smart little green shorts. 

“Let’s have a snack?” 

Draco hums as he takes in the contents of the kitchen. He has one eye on Teddy, who is perched on a counter, absentmindedly playing with a rolling pin. The elves try to politely ask Draco to leave. They assure him they can get a snack ready in minutes, _Master doesn’t need to bother himself_ , but Draco finds himself wanting to stay busy till he hears back from Harry or Emma. 

“Aha,” he exclaims, spotting fresh strawberries on the counter. A quick survey of the kitchen shows he has everything he needs for a delicious snack.

“Teddy,” Draco calls, lifting the boy from his perch to help him climb onto a stool placed right in front of the window. The kitchen feels so open now, compared to how it was before, the new windows letting in more light and giving the otherwise dark room some life. “Do you think you can help me?” 

Teddy nods, clumsily trying to roll up his sleeves just like Draco had. He stays still as Draco helps him, waiting patiently for him to gather everything on the counter in front of them. 

“Do you like strawberries?” 

“They’re my favourite,” Teddy offers shyly, staring at the bowl filled with them. “Harry doesn’t let me have lots though.” 

Draco chuckles, neatly slicing a few into pieces and sliding the plate over to Teddy. “Harry isn’t here right now,” he whispers conspiratorially. 

Teddy beams, eagerly digging in as Draco measures the maple syrup and mascarpone. A chubby hand holding onto a piece of strawberry pops into his line of vision; he turns to see Teddy holding it out for him. 

“For Draco,” he says, bringing it closer to him. Draco happily accepts the piece, making a big show of how delicious it is and thanking Teddy profusely till he giggles. He allows Teddy to mix the wet ingredients as he slices the bread and remaining berries. 

They have their sandwiches in the sunroom, Teddy regaling Draco with tales from day-care. He’s never heard Teddy talk this much, at least to him, and he’s awed at being allowed this glimpse into Teddy’s personality. 

They settle down on the sofa after, the wireless playing an older ballad in the background, as Draco reads to Teddy. Within minutes Teddy is asleep, leaning fully onto Draco. With one hand he drapes a throw blanket over the child, wandlessly bringing over one of his own books to read. 

That’s how Harry finds them an hour later, Draco immediately shushing him as soon as he enters. Harry looks on fondly, tucking the blanket tighter around Teddy as he settles down on the floor in front of the couch, giving Draco a detailed account of what happened at the Ministry. 

The culprit is caught within the next week.

~*~

Draco double-checks the house number, making sure it’s the right one before climbing up the stairs. He tightens his hold on the bottle of wine before knocking, taking in one last deep breath before the door swings open.

“Draco!” 

Emma looks radiant, her sparkling blue dress in stark contrast to the dark formal robes she wears to work. She gives him a hug, inviting him in.

“Come in, I’m so glad you could make it!”

With the case wrapped up and paperwork done, Emma invited everyone over for a dinner party. “We deserve it,” she had exclaimed, high-fiving Bronan. Draco had been in two minds about going, not sure if he wanted to crash the team dinner. Emma, however, seemed to have foreseen Draco’s reluctance and had sent Draco an owl every hour till he finally confirmed. 

“Your house is lovely,” Draco compliments, handing over his coat with a thanks. He’s not just saying it to be polite; her house truly is beautiful. With dark woods and deep jewel tones, it’s a cosy yet chic space, the candles and muted lamps giving everything a soft glow. 

“Thank you.” Emma smiles, taking the offered bottle of wine with a chuckle. “I can’t take any of the credit though—this was entirely my beautiful wife’s vision. Speaking of whom, _this_ happens to be her favourite wine.” 

Draco spends the next hour mingling. He meets Emma’s wife, Tara, a sociable witch who works in the Minister’s office. Bronan is there as well with his wife, a calm primary school teacher who complements his exuberance wonderfully. 

Even as he listens to Bronan share stories of old cases, Draco’s gaze keeps drifting to the door. Each time he catches himself doing it, he frowns, making himself pay attention to the conversation and yet, a few minutes later, he’s doing it again. 

Finally, just as Emma announces that dinner is ready, the door opens and Harry walks in. He looks _good_. Out of his work clothes and the casual jeans and trainers he wears to the Manor, Harry looks older in his more formal outfit of a fitted blazer over trousers. Draco watches on as he greets Emma, giving her a light peck on the cheek and meeting Tara for a hug. 

He finally catches sight of Draco, freezing in place before making his way over. 

“Hi.” He smiles. “You made it.”

Draco rolls his eyes, offering Harry a glass of wine. “I’m not sure Emma would have ever forgiven me if I hadn’t.” 

Harry chuckles. “She knows how to keep a grudge, that’s for sure.” 

“Who is Teddy with?”

Harry waves at Bronan. “Mrs Weasley offered to keep him. Draco—”

Harry’s cut off as Emma comes to get them for dinner. Draco shoots him a questioning look, wondering what Harry was about to say. 

Much like the rest of the house, the dining room is stunning. Bathed in warm lamp light, it’s cosy and inviting. Little tea lights in shallow glass bowls are placed all the way down the centre of the table, the candle light reflecting off of the crystal goblets placed next to them. Interspersed throughout are little sprigs of baby’s breath, the flowers standing out amongst all the glass. 

Draco finds himself seated across from Harry. He’s already in conversation with Everly, the Harry of now a more sociable and open version than the one he remembers. He realises this is the first time he’s actually seeing Harry interact with someone in a social setting. It’s a jarring thought, reminding Draco just how hidden away into each other they were. 

He’s shaken out of his musings by the feel of Harry’s foot nudging against his. He looks up to find Harry looking at him, an eyebrow arched in question. Draco shakes his head, grabbing his wine glass to take a big sip. Harry in this light is a reminder of all the changes he wasn’t here for. The soft light from the candles highlights the sharp slope of his jaw. It’s very distracting. 

Dinner is a pleasant affair. Tara is loud and jovial; she has an air around her that instantly puts people at ease, making two hours pass like nothing. It’s around dessert that things take a more serious turn. 

“So, Draco,” Everly calls for his attention, “what do you have planned now that you’re free of us?”

The conversation dims slightly, Emma shooting Everly a chiding look even as Draco studiously avoids looking at Harry. 

Draco places his napkin to the side. “I’m not entirely sure, to be honest.” He pauses, running a finger around the rim of his glass. “The Institute position is still open for me. So I guess it’s up to me.” 

He shrugs, looking around with a stilted smile. 

“Well,” Emma breaks the silence, smiling at Draco affectionately. “You aren’t getting rid of me that fast.” 

Draco feels warm all the way down to his core. He would have never imagined meeting such kind people that he would actually want to stay in touch with. 

He had never imagined reconnecting with Harry.

~*~

“Thank you for such a wonderful evening.” Draco hugs Tara. He laughs as she squeezes him tight, whispering _stay in touch_ in his ear before kissing his cheek goodbye.

Harry is waiting for him at the bottom of the steps, eyes fond as he waves at the couple. The nearest Apparition point is a little way from their house, a perk of living in a Muggle neighbourhood. Harry offered to walk down together and Draco was quick to say yes. 

It’s nearing eleven pm, and night has truly fallen. The path is illuminated by streetlights, the faint dusting of snow glimmering in the light. They walk together in comfortable silence, Draco still going over Everly's question. 

_What_ will he do next?

Harry coughs lightly, drawing Draco’s attention. Just before they’re about to turn onto the street with the Apparition point, Harry grabs Draco’s arm, making him stop. 

“Harry?”

He looks pensive, the cold highlighting the flush in his cheeks. Draco is reminded of another boy he once talked to in the snow. 

“I wanted to apologise.”

The wind picks up speed around them, the rustling of the leaves filling in the silent gaps. Draco stands there, surprised, lost for words as Harry continues.

“I wasn’t fair to you.” Harry speaks confidently, his eyes bright behind his glasses. “I’m sorry. For not prioritising us and for not being there for you the way you were there for me.”

Harry waits patiently, no hint of nervousness on his face. Harry’s return into his life also, inevitably, brought back a lot of old memories. While they feel like bittersweet moments from a time long past, what strikes Draco the most out of those memories is how much _he’s_ changed. The Draco he is today is so startlingly different from the Draco he was then.

“Harry,” Draco whispers, their breaths misting as he closes the distance between them. “I need to apologise, too. I was wrong to place all the fault solely on your shoulders and just _leave_. It wasn’t fair of me to expect you to be my escape.”

“I wanted to be.” 

Draco smiles. “I know, but we were too young and too lost to be for each other what we needed to be. You deserved more than being my excuse for not trying hard enough for myself, for the things I wanted to do.” 

“I would have been anything you needed me to be if you had asked.” 

Draco clears his throat, blinks back the wetness. He closes the remaining distance and wraps his arms around Harry. The familiar feel of those arms settling around his waist soothes an unrest in him he wasn’t aware of till it was gone, the sense of peace taking over startling in its presence. 

As the snow continues to fall, they stand under the streetlight, old wounds finally starting to settle, to heal.

~*~

A week from the dinner, Draco wakes to the Floo chiming. He had been up late, poring over his great-great-grandmother’s notes. Throughout family history, Celestina Malfoy was known for her beauty—the family journals are filled with paragraphs and paragraphs about her beauty and elegance. However, with the case done and his research handed over, Draco has ample time to go over her research. The arboretum is filled with decades of her work, papers on topics that Draco can imagine beginning to try himself. He knows two things for sure now. The first is that, despite him having gone through barely two scrolls, it’s clear she was a researcher ahead of her time. The second is that the Malfoy family journals are useless when it comes to things of substance.

Having slept barely four hours, Draco whines into his pillow, willing the incessant chiming of the Floo to stop. After it goes on for another minute and he can hear Milly knock, Draco pulls himself out of bed, stumbling against the nightstand. Pulling on a sweater, he makes his way down the stairs, just about managing to make it without falling over. 

He’s ready to give the people a piece of his mind—there’s absolutely no reason anyone should be calling him _this_ early. However, all his plans of retribution are forgotten once he opens the Floo and finds a sobbing Teddy clinging to his legs. 

Draco looks up at Harry in confusion, noticing how the other is also dressed in his pyjamas, messy bed head making him look years younger. 

“What?” Draco yawns, trying to drag the crying child to the sofa so he can ask what’s wrong. Harry doesn’t look panicked, just sleep deprived with a pillow crease on his cheek, so Draco doesn’t feel too concerned. So clearly Teddy isn’t in some sort of grave danger but who knows what goes on in the mind of _almost_ five-year-olds. 

Failing to take a single step, Draco sits down onto the carpet, Teddy instantly climbing onto his lap and clinging to him. 

“I’m sorry,” Harry whispers, his voice gravelly and deep like it always got first thing in the morning. “He’s been asking to see you since last night.” 

Draco frowns, rubbing a hand up and down Teddy’s back. “Whatever for?”

“He, err,” Harry scrubs a hand through his hair, “he heard Hermione and me talking about, ummm, when you’re going to leave.” 

Oh. _Oh_.

Draco feels any energy he managed to muster seep right out of him. The poor child is finally quieting down, strong sobs no longer wracking his little frame. 

“He didn’t sleep much, woke me up after barely two hours,” Harry explains, bringing the blanket from the sofa to wrap around Teddy. “I’m sorry, I’ll take him back in a bit.” 

“That’s okay,” Draco says, hugging Teddy tight. 

Teddy wiggles a bit, finally speaking up, but it gets muffled by Draco’s sweater. 

“Teddy, love, we can’t hear you,” Draco speaks into his hair, making Teddy whine, but he finally looks up. Draco coos at the tear-streaked face, using a sleeve to wipe his face. 

He waits patiently as Draco works, his messy hair now a familiar white-blond again. Once Draco leans back a bit, Teddy chews on his lip before speaking up, his voice wobbling. 

“Don’t go, Draco.” Teddy pouts, his expression a cross between sullen and sad. “My toys are here and Milly and Zeb and the peacock and Draco.” 

Draco snorts. “Glad I’m in the ranking somewhere, even if it’s after that wretched bird.”

“I like the birdie,” Teddy giggles, sniffling a bit. “He’s pretty.”

“I know you do,” Draco sighs, long suffering. 

He calls Zeb, asking him to help Teddy wash up and then get started on breakfast. Draco waits till they’re out of the room to finally look at Harry. He’s seated himself on the carpet as well, arms wrapped around his legs. 

“I got a letter from the Institute a few days ago,” Draco starts, playing with the tassels on the blanket. “They offered me a promotion to lecturer if I go back and said they’d even fund all of my research as opposed to the insulting fifty percent they were offering earlier.”

“That’s amazing, Draco,” Harry says. He sounds genuinely happy when complimenting him. “It’s about time they understand your worth.” 

The words have a lot of weight to them. 

Draco shrugs. “True. _However_ ,” he pauses for effect, “I got another letter just the day after that one.” 

He _Accio’s_ the letter from his desk and levitates it over to Harry. It’s fun watching his expression go from tense to curious to hopeful. 

“There’s another case?” he asks, going over the letter again. “Emma didn’t mention anything to me.”

“She said she wanted it to be a surprise.” Draco smirks, watching Harry frown indignantly. 

“I’m her boss,” he grumbles. Taking a deep breath, he seems to prepare himself before he asks, “So?”

“The thing is.” Draco taps his fingers on the carpet, a silly melody he’d heard on the wireless the day before. “I quite liked the thrill of it, if I’m being honest.” 

“Really?”

“Yeah, there’s something about working against the clock,” Draco muses, thinking back to the exhilaration he felt on finding the answer. “It’s quite unlike my regular research work.”

“It really is something,” Harry agrees, his smile now reaching his eyes.

“I have absolutely no interest in making it a full time career,” Draco makes sure to mention. “I enjoy my research and alone time too much to quit over this of all things.” 

“Of course.”

“But I don’t think teaching was ever the path for me,” he continues on. “I’m not sure I have the patience to deal with all the questions and paperwork.”

“Absolutely.”

“Most importantly, though, I’ve only just started going through Celestina’s papers,” Draco leans forward in excitement. “Harry, you have no idea the kinds of things she was working on! I can’t wait to get started on putting those into practice and actually testing her theories.”

“Sounds amazing,” Harry offers. 

“Finally, and this is perhaps the most integral,” Draco says gravely, waiting for Harry to lean towards him a little. “Teddy’s toys and Milly and Zeb and the peacock are here.” 

Harry smiles. He adds, “And you.” 

“And me.”


	4. not anyone, you’re the one, you’re the sanctuary

As snow drifts past the window, sheets of it covering everything in sight, the dining room at Malfoy Manor fills with laughter and conversation, the clinking of glass and the gentle crooning of Celestina Warbeck. 

Gone is the old ornate dining table meant to seat entire wizarding households; in its place is a slightly less _vintage_ yet fitting oak table. The champagne flutes reflect the light from the chandelier, the strings of fairy lights peeking out from between the bowls and silverware lending the table a muted glow. Seated at the centre table, Draco watches as Pansy flirts with an unassuming Neville, his hard-earned confidence a lure she couldn’t resist. Weasley and Hermione are seated at the end, Harry across from them, his right arm comfortably placed around the back of Draco’s chair. Draco’s attention is pulled by the sound of a chair scraping as it slides back, turning in confusion to face Harry. 

“I’d like to make a toast,” Harry proposes as he rises to face the table. All five occupants turn towards him, regarding him with varying expressions. 

“To Draco,” Harry raises his glass, his eyes twinkling as he watches Draco flush in surprise, “for being the _first_ British wizard ever to be invited to the International Herbology Symposium.” 

Draco watches as the guests raise their glass to him and drink, Hermione shooting him a pleased smile. The easy manner in which she dispenses affection towards him is still something Draco is getting used to, the awkward conversations with Weasley more comforting in their familiarity. 

_Baby steps._

That has been their go-to since the day over a year-and-a-half ago when Teddy had turned to them and asked, with all the seriousness of a five-year-old, if they were _just like_ his friend Bill’s dads were. While they had spluttered, embarrassed and too awkward to look at each other, and explained that no, they were _not_ , Teddy had questioned why. 

“We even have dinner together like Bill’s family!” he had exclaimed, his attention then entirely on Draco and Harry rather than his broom, showing _exactly_ how serious the little boy was about this. “Draco, you also scold Harry like Bill’s dad Jin scolds his other dad.” Teddy had frowned, arms crossed across his little chest. 

It had been after Harry had tucked Teddy into bed, in his room at the Manor, that he finally brought up the one thing he had been agonising over for the past few months. Draco managed to beat him to the punch though, almost shouting, _“Do you want to have dinner sometime?”_ just as Harry walked through the door to the sitting room. 

_Baby steps._

Weekly dates to sleepovers to daily meetings. Draco kept waiting for that sense of familiarity to strike, for that moment of clarity where he would feel, “This is just like last time.” It never came. 

It felt new, sparkly, the feeling of getting to know someone for the first time because their last time felt like it was a lifetime away. What remained was the comfort of little things, like Harry’s habit of forgetting his tea till it got too cold and then complaining about it, and new surprises, like the fact that Harry preferred the left side of the bed now. 

_Baby steps._

As the last of their guests leave, Draco closes the Floo, feeling the wards settle around the house. The sitting room is dark save for the light from the Christmas tree, the twinkling lights casting shadows across the walls. Teddy had been in charge of the decoration, guiding Harry and Draco on where to place each bauble and each string of tinsel. 

After carefully stashing the significant pile of Teddy’s gifts under the tree, Draco makes his way up the stairs. A quick peek into Teddy’s room brings a fond smile to his face, chuckling at Harry’s inability to say no. As suspected, he enters his bedroom and spots not one, but _two_ , lumps under the covers. 

He takes his time changing, smiling every time he hears a giggle from the bed and Harry’s immediate futile attempts at shushing. 

Standing by the bed he pokes that smaller lump once, biting back his laughter at the way it giggles, before he peels the covers back. Teddy lets out an excited shriek, curling back into Harry as Draco jumps onto the bed. 

“Well, well, well, what do we have here?” 

Teddy smiles up at him, his already messy blond hair even more rumpled now. To Harry’s constant chagrin, Teddy spends the majority of his time with hair like this, a mix of theirs, like he can’t pick which he preferred.

“Don’t you have a lovely new bed, young man?” Draco asks, slipping under the covers. He shivers at the warmth, sliding his cold feet across the bed till he hears Harry squawk from the unexpected chill. 

“It’s Christmas, Draco.” Teddy pouts, no trace of the stubborn seven-year-old who had been ecstatic on picking out his new bed. “Please?”

Draco sighs, turning over to face Harry. 

“Fine, _but_ ,” he warns, “no waking me up before seven. We aren’t opening gifts till eight.” 

Teddy whines, trying to plead his case for how opening gifts at six is perfectly reasonable, but he’s out like a light within minutes. 

Harry reaches across the pillows to brush back Draco’s hair, leaning over a slumbering Teddy to give Draco a kiss goodnight. 

“He’ll be up at five sharp, you know,” Harry whispers, smiling as Draco groans into his pillow. 

Teddy does indeed wake up at five, managing to hold off for fifteen minutes before he’s shaking Harry and Draco awake. They stumble down the stairs, half asleep, holding onto each other in case they slip. 

Zeb already has the fire roaring while Milly brings around hot chocolate. Curled into Harry on the sofa, Draco watches Teddy carefully unwrap each gift. 

The unrestrained joy on Teddy’s face and the sturdy warmth across his back from Harry’s chest is worth facing the early morning. They are, after all, his favourite parts of the day.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is part of HD Erised 2020; thank you so much for reading! You can show your appreciation for the author in a comment below. ♥


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